


In The Quiet of The Night

by Totoffle



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Angsty insecure Mark, Gary makes it better, M/M, Sex in the studio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totoffle/pseuds/Totoffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's been something troubling Mark since the five of them got back together, and it's a problem that tea and biscuits won't fix. Fortunately, Gary has a back-up plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Quiet of The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Take That Slash Secret Santa (2013) on LJ, and realised I hadn't put it on AO3, so here it is!
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own.

It was coming up to four in the morning when Gary realised he was alone.

He was in the middle of the bed, which was unusual in itself. Normally, Gary would wake up in one of two positions. One: curled up behind Mark, nose in his hair, trying to ignore how much it tickled. Or two: clinging on for dear life because Mark had chosen to make like a starfish and spread himself out. 

Their king size bed felt even bigger than normal with Mark not there, and Gary knew he would never drift off until he was back. Unfortunately, he had no idea where Mark had gone, or how long he was likely to be. 

He'd have to go and ask him. 

Rubbing at his face, Gary sat on the edge of the mattress and shoved his feet into his beloved John Lewis slippers. Well, there was no point in him getting a chill, and the black and white stripes complemented his dressing gown very nicely, as Mark had informed him in earnest as he opened them three Christmases ago. 

Gary padded out onto the landing and switched on the light. It stung for a few seconds, and he used the time spent with eyes shut to decide on a plan of action. 

In all likelihood, Mark would be in the bathroom. Over dinner he'd mentioned fancying a nice hot bath, and to Gary's knowledge he hadn't fulfilled that particular desire. Of course, there was always the possibility that he'd be in the garden, having a quick fag. Or maybe Mark had been unable to sleep and had gone downstairs so as not to disturb Gary. He was thoughtful like that. 

But he wasn't in the bathroom or the garden. He wasn't in the living room or the kitchen, or the spare bedroom. Gary half-considered checking the airing cupboard, but decided that was going too far (keeping it in the back of his mind as a last resort). 

It was only when he found him that Gary realised how obvious his little hiding place was. In fact, he felt rather foolish not to have thought of it straight away. Mark had been spending a lot of time in the studio recently, but this was the first late night trip. 

Gary stayed silent, opting instead to lean against the doorframe and watch. In the glass separating studio and recording booth, he could see Mark's tired face, eyes shut and deep in concentration, humming a tune Gary didn't recognise. Part of Gary wanted to rush in and flick his ears or give him a backrub, but he seemed so far away, so lost in his thoughts that it felt wrong to disturb him. 

As he was about to spin on his heel and creep back upstairs, Mark opened his eyes and caught him standing there. 

"Oh." 

Gary took that as an invitation to enter. Mark turned to him, smiling. If he was intending for it to be sincere then he was failing badly. There was something in his face which told Gary that his intrusion wasn't especially welcome, and he was hit by a slight feeling of awkwardness, even though it was _Mark_. 

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said, feeling as if he should explain himself, in spite of his name appearing on the property deeds as well. "I wondered where you'd got to." 

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get some of this stuff in order." 

"Ah," Gary nodded at the pieces of paper strewn over the mixing desk. The majority of them were covered in Mark's handwritten lyrics, a staggering amount scribbled out. "I see you've done a good job of it." 

"Yeah well, I'll organise them properly later." 

There was an ashtray nestled amongst the papers. It was half-full, a lit cigarette resting on the rim, smouldering away. Gary glanced at it, and Mark followed his gaze. 

"Sorry," he muttered, moving it a couple of inches to the left as if that would somehow make it disappear. "I know you hate me smoking in here, 'cause of the smell and everything..." 

"No, I hate you smoking in here because it's bad for your health." 

Mark smiled, a genuine smile this time, and reached out for Gary, briefly squeezing his arm. He stubbed the cigarette out and tipped the contents of the ashtray into the bin, before going back to what he'd been doing (which, apparently, involved clicking his pen on and off over and over again). 

"Why don't you go up to bed? I won't be too long." 

Gary shrugged. "I'm awake now. D'you need any help?" 

"M'alright thanks." 

Mark didn't look up from his work, choosing instead to growl in frustration and cross his last sentence out. This was typical behaviour when he was writing; the final lyric was rarely the original one. It was normal for him to go through a whole tree's worth of notepads before he was completely satisfied. 

Gary attempted to peer over his shoulder to see what he had so far, which was a Very Bad Move if the reaction was anything to go by. 

" _Gaz_ ," Mark sighed, turning his head and giving Gary an annoyed look. "Please, I want to get this finished..." 

"I don't mind helping." 

"You're not helping. You're being a pain in the arse." 

"But..." 

"What? What d'you actually want, Gary?" asked Mark, exasperated. He had spun his chair fully so that they were facing one another again, and it was with a quirked eyebrow that he suggested: "Sex?" 

"No. Well... No!" 

Mark swivelled around. "It's usually is." 

"No it isn't..." 

The truth was, the mere _thought_ of sex tended to send a tingle from Gary's brain straight to his crotch. He'd long since given up fighting his urges with regards to Mark - that decision had been made for him on a particular morning in 1992, the two of them alone on the tour bus as they waited for the others to roll out of their hotel beds, both too shy to say anything as they not-so-subtly inched closer to one another, their mouths meeting in a passionate kiss. And the rest - the house, the cars, the pairs of slippers for Christmas - fell into place as they went along. 

This time, however, he hadn't even considered anything as remotely interesting as sex. It was Mark who'd brought it up, and Gary was sure that one of Jason's dull psychology textbooks would've had something to say about his 'unconscious desires' (or some equally convoluted term that effectively meant he was secretly gagging for it). 

Still, it was a nice idea... 

"If you're not going back to bed, you can go and make some tea." 

"For who?" 

"For me." And then Mark chuckled, so quietly Gary almost missed it. "But feel free to make yourself one too." 

*** 

By the time Gary returned, with two mugs of tea and a few biscuits from a selection box, Mark had apparently given up on getting rid of him. He took his drink and dunked his custard cream, sighing deeply as he bit into it. 

"You do make a lovely cuppa." 

Gary, reclining in the other chair, held up his cup in acknowledgement. "I put full-fat milk in yours." 

Mark made a face, but it was affectionate. "Trying to fatten me up again?" He leaned across to prod Gary in the ribs, and not too gently, either. "It's you who needs it these days, if we're honest." 

"I thought you liked the new, slim-line Gaz." 

"I do." Mark slurped his tea. "I love you whatever size you are. But I want you to be happy, not constantly fretting about calories..." 

"Trust me lad," Gary selected the unhealthiest looking biscuit from the plate, "I'm fine." To prove his point, he shoved the whole thing into his mouth. It was that little bit too big, but he refused to let a chocolate digestive get the better of him. "See," he said, winning the battle. "Not worried in the slightest." 

This made Mark chuckle, which, under normal circumstances, would've made Gary happy. He loved hearing Mark laugh, and over the years he'd spent a considerable chunk of his time trying to make him do it. It was enchanting - the sound, the look on his face, the creases in the corners of his eyes, the way he could never stifle it even if he tried... 

Whenever Mark laughed, Gary was rendered helpless with love. Not that he would ever admit that to anybody. Howard would, quite rightly, rip him to shreds. 

But this didn't sound right, almost as if a piece was missing. As somewhat of an expert on the subject, Gary picked up on it immediately. 

"Something's obviously bothering _you_ , though. So c'mon, what is it?" Mark looked either unable or unwilling to answer, so Gary pressed further. "Why the sudden urge to bugger about with lyrics?" 

"I wasn't buggering about, I was working." 

Mark gave him a toothy grin. Gary didn't fall for it. 

"You know what I mean." He laid his hand on Mark's arm. Mark looked at it, but didn't budge. "Are you okay?" 

Mark nodded, and then shook his head. Moments later, he nodded a second time. "Yes. No. Not really. It's stupid." Gary motioned for him to continue. "Since Rob's been back, I've... I've felt... sort of..." 

He was struggling. Gary practically saw the words twisting and turning in Mark's brain, jumbling themselves so that he couldn't get them out properly. He desperately wanted to shush him, to comfort him, to help him. Mark was too proud and too stubborn for any of that, though. 

"I suppose I've been feeling insecure," he said, eventually. He stared into his cup. "Not because he's back, because I'm really pleased about that, but... Oh, I dunno. Tonight I was trying to get to sleep and all I could think about was the four of you writing the album and... and me not being able to keep up." 

So _that_ was it. 

For the past week or so, Mark had been in one of his moods. They were rare, but when one appeared it went on for months, with Mark swinging from elated to defeated in a matter of moments. Whether it was over a game of Scrabble or a plate of moderately burnt toast, the littlest of failures seemed to beat him down and make him feel worthless. Then, on the flipside, he could be overjoyed with the tiniest success story, such as last Thursday after he managed to park the car in one go (as opposed to the usual six attempts). 

He never got into this strange mood unless something was troubling him. Something, Gary had come to discover, that a nice cup of tea and a biscuit wouldn't fix. 

"You don't need to worry, Markie," Gary said, gently. "Nobody'll be pushed aside. We all work together these days - you know that." 

"Of course I do." 

"What's the problem, then?" 

Mark glared at him. "Look, it's alright for you. You're the one with the seven fucking Ivor Novellos and Christ knows what else..." 

" _Shine_ got an Ivor," Gary pointed out. 

"Only for Most Performed Work. _And_ you wrote it with me." 

"So? That doesn't matter..." 

"Yes it does!" Mark snapped. Then he stopped, looking sheepish. "Oh, I'm being daft. You're right, it _doesn't_ matter. None of it matters. I'm just stressed..." Before Gary was able chip in, Mark sighed and cut across him: "I know, I know. I need to relax." 

Gary smirked. The seed had been planted and, despite his concerted efforts to quash his desires whilst making the tea, it wasn't going anywhere. Mark always had that effect on him, and Gary was, in every respect, content with the arrangement. There wasn't much he could do about it, really. Mark caused certain reactions to take place in his brain, and who was Gary to argue with his brain? When it came to Mark, it had never let him down before... 

"I know what'll relax you." 

"Yeah? More than this cuppa?" 

"Mmm..." 

Mark frowned in confusion before he caught on. Once he had, a mischievous smile spread across his face. "What, now?" He laughed that laugh of his, sending a shiver down Gary's spine. "So you don't want me smoking in here, but you're quite happy for us to have sex on the desk?" 

Gary plucked the mug out of Mark's hands and stood up. "It's like I said. I don't want you smoking in here because it's bad for you. Sex is good for you, so I'm fine with that." 

"What about my lyrics?" 

With a wink, Gary pulled Mark to his feet. "What about 'em?" 

"I wanted to fini-" 

Mark was cut off first by Gary's lips and then by his fingers, snaking bit by bit down to his belt. Bearing in mind he'd been in his pants not five hours ago, it was beyond Gary why he had bothered to get dressed, but it was so typically Mark that he didn't question it. As he finally undid the buckle, which was no mean feat with one hand, Mark whimpered in surrender. 

Once Gary had manoeuvred Mark's trousers to his ankles, he withdrew from the kiss, pressing their foreheads together as he started work on the buttons of his shirt. 

"You can finish them later." 

"You said you weren't here for sex." 

"No," Gary conceded. "But we might as well, eh?" 

"Dirty old man," Mark shot back good-naturedly. "Sometimes," he tilted his head to the side as he allowed Gary to remove his shirt entirely, "I think you stay with me just because you fancy me." 

He was joking. Of course he was. They had a long-running joke about Gary only falling for Mark after he had won his first _Smash Hits_ award. It was a routine they went through frequently, normally culminating in Gary determined to prove exactly how attractive he found him. In Mark's current mood, however, he decided it would be wise to make his feelings clear. 

"That's not true," Gary said, his voice as firm as possible in the state of arousal he was in. "I mean, I _do_ fancy you." Mark grinned. Gary ignored him and carried on, trying not to think of how much he sounded like a fifteen year old. "But I love you for lots of reasons." 

"Like what?" 

Gary couldn't answer instantly because Mark was kissing him; his warm tongue gently sliding between Gary's parted lips, his hand inching towards his groin. Mark didn't have to touch him there - even the notion was enough to send Gary's head spinning. Just as he felt like he was on the verge of losing his mind, Mark pulled away slightly, the picture of innocence. 

He knew _precisely_ what he was doing, and he did it effortlessly. He was a bastard. A cunning, teasing, delicious, irresistible bastard, and Gary loved him for it. 

"Like what?" he repeated, his free hand working on the tie at Gary's waist, the other still hovering dangerously close to his cock. 

Gary groaned as Mark slipped the dressing gown off his shoulders and closed his fingers around him. It felt fantastic, despite a thin layer of fabric getting in the way. "Like how talented you are with your hands." 

"Is that it?" 

"No, no, I've not started yet..." Valiantly, Gary tried to ignore what Mark was doing and concentrate on the question, which wasn't easy, especially with Mark's thumb lightly brushing against him in just the right place. "You're funny. And you always smell great. And you can cook." 

"All very important things." 

And then all coherent thought flew out of the window as Mark sank to his knees, grinning wickedly and sliding a finger under the waistband of those pesky boxers. Pushing them down, he murmured in approval as he saw how aroused Gary was. The same Gary who was, at that exact moment, struggling to stay on his feet. 

"Keep going," Mark said, as his lips closed unbearably slowly around Gary's cock. 

It was ridiculous to expect him to think in such a situation. Gary was practically melting on the spot, his hand curled around the back of Mark's head, mustering up every ounce of willpower not to force anything. No, if Mark was intent on playing this game, then that's what they would do. During their time together, Gary had become extremely proficient in showering him with compliments. 

"You've got a filthy tongue," he gasped, as he felt it circle the head of his cock in the most wonderful way possible. "A really, really filthy tongue..." 

Suddenly, a blast of cold air hit him. Mark had let go and was staring up at him, blinking innocently. "Is that a good thing?" 

" _Yes_ ," Gary groaned, tensing the fingers that were tangled in Mark's hair. To his relief, Mark got the message and that gorgeous warmth returned. "It's a very good thing. One of the best things." A shudder ran through his body as Mark elected to do something extraordinarily evil with the tip of said tongue. "And I don't think I can handle much more of it..." 

Mark grunted and took Gary deeper. He wasn't prepared to stop, not when he had him in the palm of his hand. Or, rather, in the heat of his mouth. And Gary didn't want it to stop either, he just craved more. If he'd had his own way, they would've done everything all at once. 

After putting up a truly pathetic resistance, Gary gave in and Mark carried on for a little while longer, sucking him so softly that he almost wanted to cry. He was being so tender, so unbearably gentle, and it was driving Gary towards his end quicker than he could keep up with. 

It had to stop. 

"Markie," he muttered, alarmed by how breathless he was. He pulled his hips backwards, forcing Mark to release his throbbing cock, cruelly dragging his tongue along the underside as he did. "Let's make love, eh?" 

A pause, and then: "Alright. But you have to promise to keep your mitts off my lyrics 'til they're done." 

"Deal." 

He let Gary help him up and remove his pants before they kissed, Gary wrapping his arms around Mark's slim frame, holding him as close as he could, once again powerless with adoration. They broke apart and stared at one another, grinning stupidly. 

"You're perfect." The word fell out of his mouth before he was able to stop it, and it took them both by surprise. Gary felt himself blush, and he saw the colour rise in Mark's cheeks, too. "I think you are, anyway," he added to relieve the tension. "And not only because you're _very_ attractive." 

The laugh that followed reminded Gary of what he was supposed to be doing, and he grasped Mark by the shoulders, spinning him around and bending him forwards slightly. Automatically, Mark gripped the desk, a sight which did nothing to help Gary's condition. 

"Don't you dare start playing with that special effects button," he warned, only half-joking. "No echo. No reverb. Just you." 

They kept lube in every room in the house in case the mood struck them outside of the bedroom, and as this happened on such a regular basis, most of the tubes were half-empty. Silently, Gary prayed that there was enough in the one stashed in the top drawer, and thankfully there was. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and prepared Mark as thoroughly as possible, which was tricky, considering. 

"Stop wriggling, lad!" 

"I can't help it, it's cold..." Mark arched his back so perfectly that Gary nearly dropped the tube. "And it feels so nice..." 

Gary was tempted to get his revenge for the earlier teasing, but the sight of Mark, ready and waiting for him, was too much to bear. There would be plenty of opportunities to get him for that later, now he had to be inside him before he went crazy. He threw the lube to the floor, snaked one arm around Mark's waist, and slowly eased himself in. 

Mark hissed through his teeth, although not with pain, and tipped his head back onto Gary's shoulder. It wasn't the greatest or most comfortable angle, but they managed to brush their lips together for a moment, which was enough. 

"Love you," Gary whispered, feeling goosepimples forming on Mark's flesh, no doubt due to the sudden warm breath against his ear. "So much... Is it okay?" 

"Fucking brilliant..." 

That was all Gary needed to hear. He tightened his grip on Mark, determined not to let him get away. Not that he would attempt to, but there was always that lingering fear in the bottom of Gary's heart that Mark would suddenly realise he was too good for him, pack his fourteen designer bags and scarper. It was mad and he knew it. 

They moved in sync, having perfected their rhythm in their twenties. Nowadays there was no need to talk if they didn't feel like it - all of that 'left a bit, right a bit' nonsense was nothing but a distant memory. Mark moved forwards as Gary pulled back and vice versa, over and over until they were sweaty, panting, and utterly exhausted. They didn't - couldn't, wouldn't - stop. 

Gary nudged Mark's head to the side, giving him full access to his slender neck, the creamy white flesh crying out to be nibbled. He sunk his teeth in, just short of leaving a bite mark, relishing the taste and scent of Mark's skin. It was heady, almost too much, and he had to draw back after only a few moments of indulgence. He wanted to last as long as he could. 

"You're too good for me." 

For a second, Gary was bewildered. The words had been on his mind, but definitely hadn't come from him. He looked at the reflection of them in the recording booth window. Mark had his eyes closed and was biting his bottom lip. 

"Don't say things like that." 

"Why not? You say it to me all the time." 

"Because," Gary went back to kissing a trail from Mark's jaw to the nape of his neck as best he could, "it's true when it's me saying it. You," he punctuated this with a quick thrust, causing Mark to gasp with delight, " _are_ too good for me. And it's everything I can do to be anywhere near what you deserve." 

"But you-" 

"Shh, Markie. Relax." 

Mark took his advice. He opened his eyes and, although Gary did his best to avoid them, even as a mere reflection they had a power over him that he had no control over. It was as if they were looking right through him, deep into his heart and soul, melting him from the inside out. 

How could Mark ever think that he wasn't good enough? 

Gary held him close as he continued to move, sliding one hand around Mark's cock; it was hard and wet, and he thrust into Gary's closed fist, all but going up onto his tiptoes in his desperation for contact. Once again Gary told him to relax, but Mark wasn't in the mood to listen any longer. It was clear that he wanted - no, he needed - this, possibly even more than Gary did. 

"Oh Gaz, I love you..." 

It only took a few more strokes and about twenty seconds for Mark to come, crying out and grappling for Gary's hand, making a mess of both of them. With a sigh he sunk backwards onto Gary, hot and worn out, but finally calm. 

"Better?" Gary whispered into Mark's ear, receiving an unquestionably positive response in return. "See, I said it'd help you relax, didn't I?" 

Gary waited patiently for Mark get his breath back and for his heartbeat to steady. He'd learnt that, as soon as he was ready, Mark would let him know that it was okay to continue. Nibbling his earlobe was doing an adequate job of keeping Gary occupied whilst he recuperated. 

A minute or so later Mark straightened up and tried for a kiss, which Gary took as his cue. Taking hold of Mark's hips he pushed forwards, still absolutely astounded that _he_ was the one who got to do this so much. Surely there were hundreds of other people who were more worthy... 

And yet it _was_ him who got to do it. It _was_ him who got to see Mark like this; it _was_ him who got to cradle the quivering Mark in his arms; it _was_ his name that Mark had uttered, repeatedly, as he'd come. Maybe he was good enough, maybe Mark would never leave him, maybe they'd be able to do this for the rest of their lives... 

With that thought Gary came too, making sure to tell Mark how much he loved him, clutching whatever part of him he could find; Mark's hushed replies to his likely nonsensical mutterings echoing in his ears as he careered over the edge, his knees only just keeping him standing. 

He had been right - this really was good for their health. 

Now it was Mark's turn to support their weight, but he couldn't manage it for very long. They collapsed to the floor in a giggling heap, Gary shuffling over so that he could sit up against the wall, Mark resting on his chest. Neither of them could find the wherewithal to construct a coherent sentence, so they contented themselves with happy little noises and tender touches. 

"That was incredible," said Mark once he'd recovered. He reached up and retrieved his mug. "Didn't finish my lyrics, though." He took a sip and grimaced. "And my tea's gone cold." 

"Don't worry love," Gary murmured, pressing light kisses into Mark's hair. "We can start again in the morning."


End file.
